


scratch my memory from your brain (i'll scratch her fucking eyes out)

by orphan_account



Series: charlie will make cd a common tag if it kills them [10]
Category: The Crafting Dead
Genre: Angst, Fights, Gen, Grief/Mourning, shelby kicks ass: the book
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-14 23:54:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15400398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: the hurt that the head forgets,the heart will always remember.the hold that the hand regrets,the heart remembers forever.(do you - carina round)





	scratch my memory from your brain (i'll scratch her fucking eyes out)

“ _Heeeeey, Shelbs_.”

Shelby’s eye twitched

Standing above her, in all of her fucking glory, was Belle. A random chick from the settlement, deep in Georgia that had picked her up and sheltered her. For the past few months, for whatever reason, Belle had taken a liking to Shelby, hovering over her and making comments on everything she did like a stressed parent. A parent that hated her.

She didn’t know if it was some sort of psychological warfare they assaulted onto newcomers, or just how Belle rolled, acting like some teenage girl in a high school drama when she was more likely into her mid-to-late twenties, and she absolutely loved toying with Shelby.

Her hand, wrapped around a small photograph, tightening around it, obscuring the image from view. What had originally been a dumb picture of Nick taking a selfie with Shelby in the background, also taking a selfie, but unknowing to the bullshit her brother was pulling. Now all that could be seen was her brother, a smug smile playing on his lips. The only evidence Shelby had left of her brother, clutched in her hand like a lifeline.

Belle whistled, “Ooo, who’s that?” Before Shelby could even move, the photo had been ripped from her hand and unfolded, Belle eagerly scanning the contents with hungry eyes and grinning. “Damn, she’s cute. Who’s she, a friend? Friend’s girlfriend?"

Shelby had to resist punching her full-on in the jaw. “ _He’s_ my brother, you creep. And he’s a _guy._  Who’s _eighteen_.”

Her words were met with a raised eyebrow, Belle looking between the photo and her. A small crowd had gathered at the commotion, wanting to see what bullshit the group’s local pariah had stirred up now. It shifted uncomfortably, and someone in the background, a man, called out, “Shove off it, Belle. Leave the girl to her business. She’s probably mourning."

A retort burned in her throat, filling Shelby with the urge to yell that her brother was alive. He had to be. Seaport was a secluded island, and he was a smart person, there was no way her brother was dead. But she held her tongue, looking up at Belle again.

Belle growled. “Sorry that I wanted to check out a picture of your hot sibling, Shelbs. Shame they’re out of my age range and _probably_ dead. Get over your grief, honey!”

That was it.

Shelby barely registered her actions until she was on her feet, a photo clutched in her right hand and her left one to the side, palm facing her. The crowd gasped as Belle looked to her, and raised a hand to a red mark on the side of her cheek, already bruising. The back of Shelby’s hand stung from the force.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Belle snarled, but Shelby didn’t register it, hot blood pumping through her veins as adrenaline flowed through her system. She wanted to rip that bitch’s head off. Shelby wasn’t a violent person, never had been, only using physical force against people when they hurt her brother. And she wasn’t putting up with Belle’s shit.

Hands grabbed her shoulders and before Shelby could react, a hard fist was slammed into the side of her cheek, sending her to the ground. The crowd yelled in unison as she raised a hand to her cheek.

Belle wasn’t done with her. Viciously grabbing her wrist and forcing her up, she pulled her hand back for another hit but stopped when Shelby grabbed it and shoved it back, twisting it hard. Some people were cheering now, yelling their names as the fight broke out. Others were watching and shaking their heads, ashamed of what their comrades were doing. Others just didn’t care.

They did care, however, when Belle ripped three nails out from a belt hanging low on her hips, always covered in dust and with a magnum swinging at the side, and slashed them in a diagonal arc across Shelby’s face, snarling.

Her head span as the same set of hands grabbed her and threw her again. Thankfully staying on her feet, Shelby tried to stem the flow of blood coursing down her face from three separate wounds across her face. A heeled boot kicked into her stomach and the crowd _screamed_ as it drove the wind from her. As her hair was yanked and the front of her shirt grabbed and pulled close to something, Shelby opened her eyes to see a face and dark brown eyes ablaze with anger; a pocket knife dug into her side.

Shelby grabbed that knife and drove it into that fucking eye.

One moment her unnecessary opponent was in front of her and the next Belle was on the ground, clutching at her eye and screaming at the top of her lungs. Shelby’s lungs burned, guilt piercing through her like a knife to the eye. Hot blood streamed down her face.

“That was fucking _wicked!_ You gave him a black eye!” her brother would say, laughing as Shelby cleaned the blood off her knuckles. However, he was shaking, and anger burned deep inside her, remembering how she walked out of the schoolroom just to see an older boy cornering her brother with malicious intent playing like a record on his face. 

She smiled. “I should’ve ripped it out.”

The crowd hushed as Belle’s screams faded out, replaced with pathetic whimpering as her arms stopped twitching and she let them fall to hold herself on the ground, the knife sticking out from her face, twisted grotesquely. It was common knowledge that during fights if the two fighting didn’t make-up, the only way to win was to either knock the other person out or admit defeat. It was fucked up, but it was how the camp worked, many arguments being solved that way. Shelby’s heart was pounding in her throat, bile rising up as she watched the older woman sob on the floor. She wanted to give mercy, to help Belle up and remove the knife from her eye. But then she remembered her brothers laugh, tears pricking at the back of her own eyes. Her hands curled into fists.

Shelby brought her foot down on Belle’s head.


End file.
